La Baile de Ella
by xXCrimsonBlueXx
Summary: The fiery dance. The slow dance. The happy dance. Her voice. Her eyes. Her hair. Those that dance, and those that watch.


He holds out his hand, she gracefully accepts. He twirls her around the dance floor, elegant, respecting, perhaps even remorseful. The opposite of the spicy Spanish tango, never looking back.

He watches as she spins in his arms. What he would do to be in those arms- not that he would ever admit it. No. He will simply watch as the two slowly mutate from a slow waltz to a speedy jazz-like beat.

He has his arms around her, and her shoulders are being caressed. He whispers something in her ear. Judging by her slight blush and giggle, something sensual. Something sexual. The dance changes this time again. She wraps her arms around his neck, and her hips sway gently. His hands are on her waist, and his nose in her hair.

He watches, wondering. Why does the music change? This time, the music speeds up, courses in his ears. He watches as she tries to detach herself. She laughs. Let me dance by myself for a while. He's surprised. He clasps onto her. You're mine. She struggles, but he's too strong. Suddenly he sees another man arrive.

This man is different. He does not contain the spicy caramel the man and women had. He is young and naïve. He holds the potential for great power, great destruction, and he slaps the man.

He almost gets up at this. Don't hurt him! But instead he simply watches as the man walks dejectedly away. Back to the watching man. Now another is watching. He watches as the fair and the tan dance.

They swirl in a slow beat. They laugh together, equals. She makes a small joke, he laughs, eyes crinkling. Suddenly he's mad. She doesn't understand. She pleads with him, but he pulls her by her hair. Why? What have I done? You know what you did. Her long, curly black locks are cut by a knife. She's alone now.

Suddenly the fair man comes back. He cuts one last lock, this time delicately, with an apologetic smile. She's enraged. She screams, she cries, he backs away, clenching the lock close. She continues to shout, she beats at the sky, but she cannot stop from dancing.

He walks away now. Not to the watching man. Not till later. Not till after they have created a dance of their own. Another new man appears. Another new watcher. The new watcher looks surprisingly identical to the previous dancer.

The new dancer quickly entwines himself with her. She tries to push him back, and at first succeeds. He quickly comes back, however, and holds out a rose. She refuses. It would look lovely on you. No thank you. He grabs her short hair and repeats the compliment, a threatening tone. They dance. She has a rose in her hair.

They dance slowly, though quickly she speeds up, she grits her teeth and moves her legs in a flash, using her arms to keep the man as far as possible. He is amused. He matches with her. They race in their dance, and he begins to perspire. This is not the gentle embracing dance she has felt before. He loses interest and stops the dance. He pats her and leaves. He looks at the watcher, but simply walks ahead, away. She crushes the flower and replaces it with a pink dahlia. She dances with herself.

She begins to hum a deranged song. The song is faster than the dance. She struggles to keep up. Why won't I stop? She hugs herself, she no longer has control. She falls to the ground. She picks her self up. Her eyes are glowing a bright green, and she swings herself happily. She sings out in beautiful melodic notes. Suddenly her voice breaks and her eyes dim back to a murky sea green.

Beside her are the similar looking men. One on each side, they hold an arm and guide her. Her pupils are dilated. I'll pick myself up. I always do. We know. They sing soft songs, and she croaks along. I'll regain my voice. My eyes will be bright. My hair will grow. We know. They whisper reassurances in her ears. She embraces them and thanks them.

They begin to dance. Movements are clumsy with three, but soon they have created a rhythm. It is not the fiery passionate rhythm, nor the slow waltz, nor jazzy speed. They dance a dance of friendship. Of apologies. I'm sorry for taking your hair. Of promises. Your eyes will glow.

There are still two watching. They are no longer watching in jealousy. They watch in admiration. This is not their dance. They have their dance, and they will dance it. This is not their dance; it is the never-ending, the compulsive, the perfectly planned, the exotic, and the dance of her.

* * *

><p><strong>You get a cookie if you can find out who everyone is, and what the items represent~<strong>

**I'll give you a clue, only one of the two "similar looking people" danced with her~**


End file.
